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Yer killing me Larry. You can't go. You're the Birthday committee, the D&D Quality Control specialist, and the barometer of the common anglah. You can't go. Seriously, go outside and yell, smell the squirrel tree face thingies, go get your Bacon Egg & Cheese done wrong and clear your head. Picture a breaking tide in early June. Smell the honeysickle in the air, hear the sound of a tide dragging pebbles back for the thousandth time of the day for the thousandth millenia. Place wouldn't be the same without you and you'd get me all cranky.
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